Helping Hands
by TJ-TeeJay
Summary: Neal has an accident with rather unfortunate consequences. PG-13, Gen.


**Title: **Helping Hands  
**Author: **TeeJay  
**Summary:** Neal has an accident with rather unfortunate consequences.  
**Written for:** ladyniko as a response to the LiveJournal collarcorner Prompt Fest #2  
**Prompt/Request: **Hand Injury  
**Would Like:** Something happens (your choice) and Neal can't use his hand/hands for a time, how does he cope? Is he a total pain, does he try and hide/downplay his injury?  
**Don't Want: **Permanent injury or loss of limb  
**Rating: **PG-13  
**Genre:** Gen  
**Characters/Pairings:** Neal, Peter, Elizabeth, Mozzie  
**Warnings: **Minor spoilers for 2x11 Forging Bonds  
**Author's Note:** Part of this was inspired by actual events because the husband of a colleague of mine once broke both his arms. There is a funny story about her getting a call at work from her husband, asking her if she could come home and "rescue" him because he'd forgotten to change out of his jeans into his sweat pants before she left and now couldn't go to the toilet because he couldn't open the jeans button and zipper. :o)  
Also, I must admit I was too lazy to do a lot of research on fractures and casts, so if the medical stuff is inaccurate, you can totally blame me for choosing to spend my precious time on storytelling rather than online medical research.  
**Disclaimer: **White Collar, its characters and its settings belong to Jeff Eastin and USA Network. And, guys? Your characters are not only welcome, they're wonderful. I'm just borrowing, I promise.

* * *

It had been a freak accident. Something that you would sometimes hear people jokingly tell at a party after having reached a certain level of inebriation. A witty story to amuse other guests with about the guy who broke both arms at the same time and couldn't even go to the bathroom without help.

Neal Caffrey didn't really think it was funny _or_ witty. It was actually a damn nuisance, and there was also a certain level of pain involved. Having both your wrists in a cast just basically... sucked big time.

It wasn't even that it had involved anything spectacular or heroic. No busting of heists or storming into buildings littered with violent criminals. No chasing of thugs or even anything case-related. Just lack of attention, a missed curb, a misstep and a fall braced by both arms in an unlucky collision with solid asphalt.

Peter had driven him to the hospital, either ignorant of the fact that Neal didn't quite manage to cover up the pain, or mercifully ignoring it on purpose to give Neal some dignity. There had been x-rays and poking and prodding (bringing on more pain), and finally the process of putting casts on both arms. They'd asked if he wanted a particular color for it. He'd preferred off-white. It'd go best with his wardrobe.

The final verdict was that he'd snapped his radius clean in two just above the wrist on his right arm and fractured a carpal bone in his left wrist. He'd be stuck with the casts for at least four weeks. Great.

Peter signed the discharge papers as Neal sat in one of the chairs near the nurse's station. His arms lay awkwardly on his thighs, he didn't know what to do with them. Not that he _could_ do anything with them right now. Peter came walking over to him, Neal's suit jacket draped over his arm. "Come on, we're done here."

In the Taurus (Peter having opened the door for Neal), Peter looked first at Neal, then at his hands. "What am I going to do with you?"

Neal shrugged, not in the mood for meaningless banter. This was going to seriously cut into his routine. Not to mention into the ability to function by himself.

Peter gave him a sympathetic smile. "Let me drop you off at our house. El was planning on working from home today."

Neal looked at him. "Peter, that's really not necessary."

"Oh no? And how were you planning on going about your life? You can't even unzip your pants without help right now."

Neal flinched. "Yeah, thanks. I don't feel stupid enough as it is."

Peter smirked at him. "You know what? If this wasn't so unfortunate, it'd actually be kind of funny."

"Easy for you to say. You're not the one with two useless appendages."

Peter quickly sobered. "Sorry. I know it's not funny."

Neal lifted his arms slightly. "Let's look on the bright side. No more mind-numbing mortgage fraud cases, at least not for the next four weeks or so."

"Yeah, don't count on that. Your mind is still working, right?"

Neal sank a little deeper in his seat and just groaned.

* * *

"El?" Peter called when he unlocked the door, entering his house. "El, you here?"

She came down the stairs, a smile on her face. "Honey, what are you doing here? I didn't expect you till dinner."

"Yeah," Peter sighed, stepping aside, offering her a view of Neal. "I kinda need you to take care of someone for a little while."

El's eyes clouded over with immediate worry as she took in the state of Neal's incapacitation. "Neal, oh my God, what happened?"

He just shrugged noncommittally. "I know it sounds stupid, but I fell on a curb."

El's gaze went to Peter for confirmation. He just lifted his shoulders, echoing the shrug. "That's what happened."

Her face was sympathetic, her big blue eyes planted worriedly on Neal. "Okay, what can I do?"

Downplaying things as was his nature, he quickly said, "Nothing. I don't need a babysitter. Really."

"Nonsense," she said. "You need all the help you can get right now."

So Neal had acquiesced and accepted his fate. He had to admit, it was probably the smart thing to do. And Peter had been right. He couldn't even get out of his pants without help. He knew he'd have to accept someone's assistance eventually.

What Neal loved about Elizabeth was that she didn't make a fuss. And that she could make things that were actually pretty embarrassing feel like they were the most natural thing in the world. After having made sure he was okay and didn't need any immediate attention, she went upstairs and called for him a few minutes later.

In their guestroom, she handed him a pair of Peter's sweat pants and a hooded sweater. "Here, you'll need these if you want to, you know, give in to certain bodily needs without me fumbling at your fly every time."

Neal first looked at the clothes in her hands, then at her, trying not to blush.

She actually laughed out a short laugh. "Come on, don't give me that look."

He didn't know whether to laugh or to cry, but finally opted for a guarded smile.

She put the clothes on the bed and stepped closer to him, pointing at his midriff. "May I?"

He cautiously agreed and she started to unbutton his shirt at the neck, all the way down to the bottom, pulling it carefully from the hem of his pants. She helped him out of the shirt sleeves and then told him to hold out his arms. He felt like a toddler being dressed when she pulled the sweater over his head and his arms.

The more embarrassing part was when she first helped him out of his shoes and then unbuttoned his pants, aiding him in stepping out of them and pulling the sweat pants over his boxers. She gave him a once over when they were done. Her smile was full of mischief, and Neal asked, "What?"

"This is a new look for you."

"Yeah, I think I prefer my usual one, thank you very much."

"Not right now, you don't."

"Sadly, this is true."

They went back downstairs and sat at the dining table. Neal felt very useless, and Elizabeth read his mind. "Why don't you get some rest on the couch while I finish up my stuff?" she asked him. "I can put on a movie for you if you like."

Neal actually preferred reading, so he took a quick look at the Burkes' book shelf, settling on the couch with a historic novel about the Middle Ages, awkwardly fumbling with it until he found a comfortable position to hold and read it. When Elizabeth came downstairs again an hour later, Neal was fast asleep with the book resting face-down on his chest.

* * *

Neal refused to stay with Peter and Elizabeth overnight. This was silly, he'd have to figure out a way to function without someone being at his beck and call 24 hours a day. Still, it shouldn't have surprised him that the Little Guy was waiting in his apartment when Elizabeth dropped him off there that night.

Mozzie stared at Neal's wrists, and Neal gave him a warning look as he said, "Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated."

"This is the Suit's fault, isn't it?" Mozzie asked as soon as Elizabeth was out the door after multiple assurances (pleas, almost) that Neal should please call her if he needed help. Any time.

Neal sighed. "Not this time, Moz."

"So, what happened?"

Neal had to tell the story once more, feeling foolish all over.

"Well, this is a very unfortunate situation," Mozzie commented when Neal finished.

"For you or for me?"

"You and me both, my friend."

"Why, because you've been enlisted as my babysitter?"

Mozzie frowned, looking slightly perturbed. "No, because this will involve certain tasks that you may not have considered previously. I can fathom the idea of me feeding you, but I assume you would like to shower at some point, do you not?"

Darn, Neal hadn't considered that before. "Okay, how about we cross that bridge when we come to it."

Mozzie muttered something that sounded like it had a "tomorrow morning" in it, but Neal didn't beleaguer the point. Right now, deep down, he was thankful for his friends looking out for him.

* * *

The feeding part had actually gone over much more smoothly than he'd hoped. Holding cutlery was difficult, but not impossible. A few more days, and he'd perfect the technique. Showering was a whole other matter. There was nothing dignified about another man helping you wash your man-parts.

The first day, Mozzie had said, "Okay, I'm just gonna pretend you're Gina or something."

"Ew, Moz, that's gross."

Mozzie had lifted his arms defensively and—very wisely so—not said anything more on the topic. The second and third morning had been less embarrassing, and by the fourth day, Neal had found a way to take care of his personal hygiene without help.

The days were starting to blur together, and after a week, Neal desperately begged Peter to let him help with some case work. He'd even take all the open mortgage fraud cases. That alone told Peter that Neal was getting desperate and stir-crazy, despite well-meant visits from the Little Guy and El, sometimes also Peter. June dropped by more often than usual, and her Romanian housekeeper was an invaluable asset with chores and other hands-on tasks Neal normally wouldn't mind doing himself.

Neal didn't know what he would have done without Elizabeth. She always made sure he had a hot meal a day, sometimes at his apartment, sometimes at their home. She'd come up with some great ideas to help him back to something more resembling independent living. One of her clients had once mentioned to her that there was a company who designed household items especially for people with debilitating diseases like rheumatoid arthritis. She'd done the research and brought a few for Neal. He especially liked the "Good Grips" kitchen tool set that contained pretty much everything he needed to fix up a meal for himself.

He'd long surpassed feeling guilty or embarrassed, because there had been hard lessons of him stuck in the apartment on his own and finding out that there were things you just couldn't do without the function of both hands and no one there to help you.

He'd had moments of enraging frustration and those of anger against the New York sidewalks and the universe as a whole. There'd been shattered glasses he'd dropped (the shards of which Elizabeth had cleared away) and words coming out of Neal's mouth he would not normally use. One night he had desperately longed for a good glass of red wine with no way of uncorking the bottle. He'd tried to think up clever ideas of how to con the damn thing, but he'd ended up going to bed frustratingly sober.

The worst part was, he'd been restricted to pretty much the same outfit every day—in various combinations. He'd tried wearing slacks and shirts, but anything with buttons was not his friend. Ties were out of the question from the get-go. After a week of this, Neal didn't feel like himself anymore. He wondered more than once about the person he'd been before he met Vincent Adler. Before he started enjoying wearing suits and ties, taking on personas of aliases, before shunning mundane outfits like jeans and t-shirt.

It was some time in the second week that Peter called him (thank God for the Blackberry loudspeaker function) and asked him if he wanted to come to the office. Neal didn't have to think twice. After hanging up, he'd almost called Peter back, because, shit, what was he going to wear? Sweat pants and hoodie surely wouldn't fly at the FBI.

The next morning, Peter picked Neal up and offered him a handful of slacks Neal recognized as his own. He was truly lost for words (which practically never happened to Neal Caffrey) when Peter showed him what Elizabeth had come up with. She'd derived a clever system involving elastic bands that would negate the need for fastening buttons and fumbling with tiny zipper pins. Neal wanted to smother her in a grateful hug.

It didn't even take him ten minutes to master the system and slip into an outfit that was clearly FBI suitable.

In the office, all eyes were on him. The normally unflappable Neal Caffrey actually had a vulnerability. He tried to ignore the gazes as best he could. And he was more grateful to Jones and Diana than he would ever admit for acting normally around him. Peter took Neal to his office, because he knew he'd be a welcome target for more stares if he was left by himself at his own desk, feeling clumsy and helpless. Even Neal Caffrey couldn't paper over the cracks of this one.

Neal appreciated the sentiment, but took the files that Peter had handed him and went down into the bullpen to his desk. Peter offered twice for Neal to use his office if he wanted, but Neal refused each time. He'd actually become quite good at adapting to his current predicament. He couldn't help notice the worried gaze on Peter's face that he chose to ignore and that Peter chose not to elaborate on.

The case files weren't anything to get excited about. Routine stuff—old MOs with new names. Neal, however, was thankful for the distraction and the welcome opportunity to engage his brain in worthy endeavors. He was right in the middle of reading through a Medicaid fraud when he noticed that people were going to the conference room. His gaze went up to Peter's office, but it was empty. More people were moving toward the conference room, and Neal wondered if he'd missed a memo.

Curiosity won the better of him, and he casually walked up the stairs, passing the glass-walled room. He spotted Peter briefing what felt like half the White Collar unit, among them Diana and Jones. Peter acknowledged him walking past but didn't beckon him to come inside. Neal figured he wasn't invited. He'd be lying if he said it didn't irk him.

Not ten minutes later, the agents poured out of the room. People were grabbing their jackets, leaving for the elevator. When Peter passed Neal's desk in quite the hurry, he turned to Neal. "Sorry, Neal. There's... something big going down. I'll need you to hold down the fort up here."

_Yeah, right,_ Neal thought. He knew full well why he wasn't invited. And he couldn't even blame Peter. He tried to put on his best fake smile. "Anything you want me to do while you're out there, catching bad guys?"

Peter was already almost out the door. "No, just... stay out of trouble."

Neal lifted both his arms in the air, waving them a little. "It's not like I can do much." But Peter had already left.

The office suddenly felt very quiet, and Neal sighed. Desk duty was sucky enough with people around to engage with and bounce things off of. Desk duty with close to no one there was just as good as spending your time alone in your apartment.

Neal put down the file and wandered over to the coffee machine. He awkwardly reached for a mug and wondered how to best transfer the caffeinated beverage from the pot into the mug when he heard a female voice from behind. "Here, let me help you with that."

He turned around to look into the friendly face of a young woman in a light gray pant suit. Her brown hair almost had a red tint, Neal noticed, and she was rather tall for a woman. Almost as a reflex, he responded, "Thanks, but I can—"

"Handle this?" she interrupted with a smile on her face. "Right, I can see that. I'm Erin. Normally, I'd shake hands, but..."

He looked at his hands, then shrugged. "Yeah, normally I get my own coffee, but..."

She went for the coffee pot and poured the brown liquid into a mug. "Milk? Sugar?"

"Straight."

"A man who doesn't bother with additives. I like that."

Neal raised his eyebrows. Was she hitting on him? Not that he minded, she was beautiful—though she had a more casual, down-to-earth vibe to her than the women he would usually be attracted to. "So, what are you guilty of that they left you behind?"

She just shrugged, pouring herself a mug as well. "Just started last week. Guess the probies don't get to play in the sandbox until proven worthy."

"Oh, don't worry, they'll let you out eventually. The Utility Van is especially fun. I'm Neal, by the way."

"I know. Convicted for bond forgery five years ago. Now you're consulting with the FBI."

He had to try hard not to look surprised. What was this? Did every new employee get a debrief on their first day on who Neal Caffrey was?

She shrugged apologetically. "Sorry. That came out wrong. Your name came up in a few cases I studied. You can't blame a woman for being curious, can you?"

Neal balanced the mug with both hands, sipping from it. Erin watched him carefully, and he answered the question before she could ask it. "You're also curious how this happened, right?"

She guardedly nodded and he shrugged, a mischievous smile on his face. "You know, life can be much more interesting with a few secrets left to uncover."

"Shouldn't you be on sick leave or something?"

"Tried that. Didn't stick."

"Oh, I totally get it. I was in a car accident last year that rendered me immobile for just under two months. I was going crazy after the second week at home."

They casually sat down at the small kitchenette table and fell into an easy banter. Erin had a number of questions, mostly about the work he did for the FBI and his relationship with Peter. Neal became more guarded in his answers when she eventually inquired about how he was arrested and convicted, but otherwise very much enjoyed engaging with the young female agent.

Before they knew it, three quarters of an hour had passed. It was Neal's ringing cell phone that ended their conversation rather abruptly and got them back to focusing on their respective cases.

Peter, Diana and Jones didn't make it back by the time Neal was calling it a day. Their absence from the office made Neal realize just how much more he longed to be back on active duty, as nice as fraternizing in the office was. Pushing paper had never been his forte. Neal Caffrey's strength lay in field work.

* * *

It was four and a half weeks after the unfortunate curb mishap that Neal's life returned to a semblance of normalcy. The fractured radius had healed nicely and the cast came off that week. The carpal bone in his left wrist would take a bit longer to fully mend, but they exchanged the cast for a brace that offered a better range of motion.

Neal felt like a new man, even though due to inactivity, his muscles had started to atrophy and he was more clumsy than he would have liked to admit. On a whim, he'd gone out and bought a bottle of expensive champagne and had invited Mozzie, Peter and Elizabeth over to his apartment.

They were all grouped around the dining table, and Neal got the bottle from the fridge while Elizabeth handed out champagne flutes to everyone.

Neal awkwardly fumbled with the wire around the cork when Peter said, "Here, let me do that."

"With all due respect, Peter, this is what I've been waiting for for four weeks," Neal just said.

Peter lifted his hands, getting the point.

The group tried not to stare at Neal taking longer than anyone was comfortable with, but the cork finally came off with a popping noise. Neal poured the champagne, lifted his glass and smiled.

"I'd like to make a toast, if you'll let me." His expression grew more sober as he shared a rare moment of honest gratitude. "First of all, I would like to thank all of you. I think you all know why. I might have been a pain in the neck at times, but I want you to know that I appreciate what you've done for me."

There were smiles all around.

Neal raised his glass a little higher. "So here's to newborn independence, and to this never happening again."

"Hear, hear," Peter grinned.

"Amen to that," Mozzie muttered.

They clinked their glasses, and for the first time in a long time, Neal knew to appreciate what it meant to have good friends in his life—friends that he could count on.

* * *

THE END.


End file.
